Pet. Why dost thou pander then? He laughs at thee
And all thy legates, moves his licensed way
As though no Mother Church held holy sway
In his dominions, selleth bishoprics
And abbeys, and making mock allegiance
Laughs in his sleeve at thee, the Pope of Rome.
Hild. Let him laugh, his scorn will eat him yet.
The day will come when he will cease to laugh,
For I am Hildebrand, I bide my time.